Of all creatures that breathe and move
by awkwardacity
Summary: Her nose itches. Then again, what was she expecting as a werewolf in a family of hunters? 6/15 - Countdown to Season Six


Allison's nose itches.

Thats not unusual - she's had more than enough time to get used to the discomforts that come with living with hunters. It's hard to avoid the wolfsbane and mountain ash everywhere - the acrid scent that clings to her entire family. So she has to fake a few colds; her parents are hardly observant enough to notice that most of these coincides with their bigger hunts, especially since she's not supposed to know about any of - _that_.

Today is so much worse than usual. Her nose _burns_. The wolfsbane is everywhere, on everything. Each inhale feels like she's swallowing sand. Each breath sends purple dust motes spiralling through the air.

She barely made it through breakfast before stumbling upstairs and collapsing in her bed, head swimming, pulse pounding in her ears. She hasn't felt this bad since her first full moon. She's just glad she managed to hide her eyes from her parents - she can hardly explain away golden irises with a _cold_.

Said parents are rushing around the house in a frantic search for equipment in whispered voices which Allison can easily hear - though she desperately tries not to. She tries to ignore the nails-on-chalkboard sound of knives and arrows and guns scraping against each other as they're shoved haphazardly into supply bags. Tries to ignore what it must mean for some unsuspecting - and probably innocent - werewolf out there. What it means for one of _her people_.

The bedroom door slams open as her mother breezes violently into the room, and Allison curses herself for allowing her sense to become so distracted as she burrows into her pillows. She doesn't trust her control as much as she'd like to, especially in the face of her mother.

"Get up, Allison."

The curtains are thrown open, light flooding into the room and making Allison's eyes burn despite the foetal position she's taken up under the covers; she tugs them tighter over her head, making a noise somewhere between a whine and a groan in response.

"Come on, Allison. This is your last week before Christmas break. You can spend all the time you want in bed next week."

Despite Allison's best efforts, her mother's hand worms it's way under the covers to feel her forehead. Her fingers are like ice cubes against Allison's skin; she can practically hear them steam.

Five minutes later she's had mumbled promises extracted from her by both her parents about being good, and using this time off school to get better - _not_ catch up on television. If she wasn't feeling so awful she would probably be offended.

The moment her parents leave - after she's watched their obviously suspicious black van - _cliché much?_ \- disappear around the corner - she runs through the house as fast she can: opening all the windows, flicking the air conditioning to its highest setting. The whole house is a flurry of multicoloured dust motes.

It's _freezing_ , but worth it. Within minutes her body feels lighter, her head feels clearer, and she can walk in a straight line from her bedroom to the fridge.

Once the house is as clear as she can get it, she huddles herself up on the sofa, television remote in one hand, tub of ice-cream in the other. If she's got the days off school, she might as well use it. It's not as if any of her teachers can do something to her if she doesn't do her homework.

One of the only perks of always moving randomly throughout the school year.

It takes three episodes of _Parks and Recreation_ for her moral compass to finally hijack her. The guilt creeps into her stomach - slowly at first, then like a tidal wave, flooding her system so fast she has to run to the toilet to throw up the ice cream.

Her eyes are still blurring, her mouth rancid with that disgusting acidic taste that's made so much worse by her wolf senses, as her fingers fumble with her phone. She flicks through her contacts - there aren't many on this phone - until she finds the one she's looking for, and sends off a quick text. Short, concise and to the point. It's enough information for them to smuggle the young woman Allison knows her parents are hunting out of the state.

She returns to the couch, legs shaking, and curls up under a warm blanket. Her wolf whines, deep and mournful inside her, and for once Allison allows the sound to slip past her lips. She's a lone wolf - an omega - hidden in a family of unknowing hunters. It's been like this for two years now: every step is a knife-edge; every decision could be the one that tips her in one direction or the other, and she's _so damn tired._

She stays in place until her parents arrive home, smelling of frustration and disappointment, and Allison allows herself a small smile. _This_ is why she refused pack bonds, despite the agony and loneliness it causes her. Someone needs to protect the world from her parents.

It might as well be her.

* * *

 **Will probably lengthen this at a later date...**

 **Come hang with/talk with/prompt me on tumblr: edelwoodsouls - I'm always free to chat.**

 **Please review, I love to hear what you think :)**


End file.
